


The Dawn Before the Rest of the World

by gonergone



Category: British Writer RPF, Literary RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonergone/pseuds/gonergone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And how would you advise one to obtain this immense experience?"  Oscar asked, resting his chin in his hand and giving Lord Gower his full attention.  </p><p>"By sinning," Frank said, his tone dripping with disdain.  "My friend will tell you that there is no such thing as sin, Oscar, but we know different, don't we?"</p><p>"A sin is only a sin because you believe it is such," Gower argued.  "Especially for an artist, experience – even of the dubious variety – is necessary.  How can you write about something if you have no real idea what it feels like?  I do truly believe that sins are not sins if they are done in pursuit of art."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dawn Before the Rest of the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegirlwiththemouseyhair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththemouseyhair/gifts).



**1878**

Oscar didn't sleep at all on his last night in Oxford. Instead, he sat at the window smoking, his mind restlessly skipping over details of the next day's travel arrangements and the many trivial things that still needed to be done. The thought that he would soon be living in London for good consumed him if he considered it, so he focused on the practical aspects of the move: he would need a new wardrobe, of course, and to find all the truly interesting salons and cafes. He didn't have the necessary funds to do it all particularly well, he knew that, but Frank had assured him that funds mattered far less if someone were clever, and Oscar was determined to be exceedingly clever. 

Eventually, between deciding whether he'd need a new hat _and_ a new coat or not, he noticed that the sky was beginning to brighten at last. Early morning Oxford was spread out before him, still black and silent. He fancied that London would be full of light at any hour, that there were so many things to do and see and enjoy that there was really no end to it. That there, finally, his real life would begin, and that made all the childish worries about leaving school seem like nothing at all. 

He heard the rustle of bedclothes behind him, and a moment later Percy slid his arms around Oscar's neck from behind, resting his chin on Oscar's shoulder. "Are you coming back to bed?" he asked quietly. 

Oscar stabbed out his cigarette with more force than was strictly necessary. "Not much point now, is there? I'll need to be up in a couple of hours anyway."

"I didn't mean to sleep," Percy told him, nipping at his ear. When Oscar didn't answer, he sighed and leaned back. "I wish you weren't going."

"It's fairly inevitable, going to London," Oscar said. He turned so he could see Percy's thin shape in the dim light. "Starting a proper career. I can't spend my life in university."

"Some of us try," Percy smiled. "Anyway, we can't all win awards for our poetry to start out a proper career. There's no better time for you to go – I know that. I just wish you weren't going to live with Frank."

Oscar looked at him in surprise. "I thought he was your friend. You introduced us, you know."

"I know," Percy said ruefully. "I doubt I'll ever stop regretting that. There's nothing _wrong_ with Frank, really. He's just the sort of person who likes to stay in and read or paint instead of doing anything exciting."

"He’s boring," Oscar agreed. "That _is_ a failing. I suppose it will be torture to live with him," he sighed.

"Yes, in his large, well-appointed house with servants everywhere. However will you cope, my dear Oscar?" 

Oscar smiled. "Not all of us can go the starving artist route. I wasn't meant for poverty, you know."

"I do know. Anyway, I don't think you'll be bored. He does have some friends, and quite powerful ones at that. He talks a lot of Lord Ronald Charles Sutherland-Leveson-Gower, for instance."

Oscar considered the name. "I don't think I'm familiar with him. He does sound like someone I should be familiar with, though." 

"You will be," Percy hesitated. "Though perhaps it would be better if you weren't."

"I suppose you mean that he's a Lord, and therefore has all of the natural failings of his class. I, as a poor student, have all the natural failings of mine, so I'm sure we'll get along splendidly. Anyway, I'm sure Lord Roland What's His Name is just the sort of friend I would like to make right now."

Percy shook his head. "I hope you don't think you can use his influence."

"If I can. I'll need some sort of patronage, surely."

Percy rolled his eyes. "I'm not sure he's your man, if influence is what you're after. I've heard interesting things about the Gower: that he's full of terrible ideas, and that he enjoys corrupting people."

"If I recall correctly, you heard the same thing about me. In any event I'd say I'm rather beyond corruption, wouldn't you?" Oscar got up from the window seat and set about getting dressed. "If anything, they should be worried about my influence," he said thoughtfully. "He has money and he comes from a good family. There are no such things as terrible ideas when you have both of those things going for you."

"It's worse with him, I think." Percy sighed. "I suppose I just like you the way you are now, and I don't want to see anything change."

"Change is bound to happen," Oscar said absently. The sun was beginning to rise, and Oxford was waking up below them. He was already wondering if it was too muddy in the lanes to wear his best shoes, or if there was time to have a decent fry up for breakfast. He thought he heard Percy sigh again, but he wasn't sure.

*

Frank Miles was just the same as Oscar remembered him, his clothes expensive but dull, his eyes small and his palms moist. The faintest scent of turpentine following him like perfume. "You must let me paint you, Oscar," he told him, as he led him into the lavish house just off the Strand. "Consider it a gift to mark your arrival in London, on the eve of taking the world by storm. I've invited Ronald to join us for dinner – I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not. I love dining with Lords."

"You'll be a bit of a surprise to him, I think, and I like surprising Ronald. It's difficult because he's… well, rather worldly. Sometimes I think nothing surprises him anymore, but I've managed to keep you a secret from him."

Oscar wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about that. "Am I a dirty secret? I'm not sure I'd mind that, but it would be good to know in advance."

Frank laughed. "No. I just wanted to keep you somewhat to myself. Selfish, I know, but Ronald has a way of pulling everyone toward him, like a particularly dense sun. I thought at first I'd never mention you to him at all, but that won't do. He'll be bound to meet you somewhere eventually and be angry at me for the subterfuge. I might as well get your initial meeting out of the way and hope you despise each other on sight."

Oscar frowned at him. "You're not honestly worried I'd prefer him to you, are you?"

Frank looked away, his expression distant. "It's been known to happen. He's a very interesting man. Just try not to like him too much, will you?"

*

Lord Ronald Charles Sutherland-Leveson-Gower was, in fact, a _very_ interesting man. 

"Will you be joining us at the Sudbury salon on Friday?" he asked languidly, watching Oscar over his teacup.

"As I'm new in town, I've not received invitations anywhere," Oscar said, glancing at Frank.

"You can't depend on him to show you anything of London's social circles," Gower complained mildly. "Frank's more interested in painting then beautiful people." He looked Oscar up and down. "You, I can see, are more sophisticated."

"For a poor poet, I like to imagine I am."

"So long as you don't believe a lack of funds should keep you from experiences, I think you'll do very well indeed."

"A lack of funds will keep him from experiences, though," Frank pointed out. "Your friends are beautiful, Ronald, but they're not overly charitable with those not born to their standards."

"That's only true if you're drab and poor, which he clearly is not. Poverty itself is not an unforgivable fault, so long as it is made up for by sheer cleverness. You, my dear Mr. Wilde, could be the cleverest of all, if you put your mind to it. Just promise me you'll never be drab."

"And what can inure one against possible drabness?" Oscar asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Experience, of course," Gower told him. "The best experiences, the worst ones… you should live life to the fullest, absorb everything you can, and in the end it may cancel out the unfortunate poverty."

"And how would you advise one to obtain this immense experience?" Oscar asked, resting his chin in his hand and giving Lord Gower his full attention. 

"By sinning," Frank said, his tone dripping with disdain. "My friend will tell you that there is no such thing as sin, Oscar, but we know different, don't we?"

"A sin is only a sin because you believe it is such," Gower argued. "Especially for an artist, experience – even of the dubious variety – is necessary. How can you write about something if you have no real idea what it feels like? I do truly believe that sins are not sins if they are done in pursuit of art."

"I daresay the government and most citizens in this country would not agree with you," Frank told him.

"Of course they wouldn't. Their lives are ruled by fear. You must not let them influence you," he told Oscar. "In fact, you shouldn't let anyone influence you at all. Don't end up like Frank, wasting your talent in fear of exploring something absolutely true."

"I certainly don't think I'm wasting my talent," Frank protested.

"And there we shall have to disagree, my friend," Gower shrugged. "You let the norms guide all of your paintings, choose all of your subjects for you. _Influence_ is the real evil, the only one." He pointed to Oscar. "You must give in to every impulse, follow every urge to its conclusion. Only then can you be a true artist."

"Oscar _is_ a true artist," Frank pointed out, beginning to sound truly angry. "He's already won an award for his poetry."

Gower waved a hand. "University awards hardly count in the real world. You know that. You must start from scratch, Mr. Wilde, and claw your way up. I can introduce you to some people, if you'd like."

"I would," Oscar said, and heard Frank sigh faintly beside him. "There are so many things I want to do I'm not sure where to begin."

"I don't think it matters where you begin. So long as you seek pleasure you'll be sure to find it," Gowan told him with a smile.

"You mustn't listen to him, Oscar," Frank told him tetchily. 

"I think it's rather too late for that," Gower said, and when he smiled at Oscar, Oscar smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> You may be the only person in the world to appreciate this, but it seemed necessary to write it anyway.


End file.
